And then you fall off the toilet seat you were standing on in your bathroom and fracture the S3 vertebrae in your sacrum, concuss yourself and injure your wrist, and everybody wants to know why you were standing on the toilet seat.
You know something, the why wasn’t and still isn’t important. It’s something I’ve done a thousand times before, and which without a doubt, I will do in the future once this memory has dimmed. Of course it potentially, in hindsight, wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but as I said, if I hadn’t fallen, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, you would never have known. Nor would you have wanted to know. And most importantly, you wouldn’t be making a judgement call on it as if you’re some kind of perfect beast who has never done something without thinking that ended less than optimally.
Yes. I’ve gotten to the grumpy stage of recuperation.
The funny thing about breaking your bum is everybody kind of assumes it’s a self diagnosis. I can assure you it is not – I spent time in hospital being poked, and prodded. I’ve been x-rayed and had my first ever ECG and CT scans. I have wept into the clean linen on the plastic beds in the short stay unit until the sweet blessed drugs took effect and dulled the pain a little. Since I left hospital, I’ve wept a lot more than I am comfortable with, but broken bums hurt. And I’m irritatingly, irredeemably, human.
Here’s the thing – fractured sacrums generally don’t happen to healthy 42 year old women unless they’ve been in a traumatic accident like a car crash. They’re more common in the elderly or people with bone density problems. And since 42 is not old and my bone density is ace, it falls into the category of ‘bloody impressive fall Al‘.
It also falls into ‘your timing sucks Al’. This Saturday I am due to fly to Indonesia with World Vision for a ten day stay visiting their projects (similar to what I did with World Vision in India last year). I’m not going. I can’t sit properly. Or walk properly. Or bend properly. Or lift things. For a while in the hospital, it was looking like it would be my call about whether or not I went – and I was still thinking of going. I mean what’s a broken butt really in the scheme of things? But then just before discharge the doctor said nope. And then he said No. And then he said it a few more times in case I wasn’t listening.
I am also 100% aware that the purpose of going with World Vision to Indonesia is so that I can form a connection with the works they are doing. It is to interpret the impact World Vision has on individual communities and relate it to my own life and experience in such a way that the people reading my blogs can better understand the work that happens. The purpose is to put aside ‘me’ and immerse myself in the lives of other people so that I can deconstruct what I see and pack it up for you, the readers of this blog, to better understand a way of life we generally only see or read about through the finely tuned lens of advertising or media stories.
|Source: Monty Python|
And I can’t do that if I quite literally can’t sit myself down and be part of it. I do World Vision no favours and I definitely don’t do the Indonesian communities any favours by merely observing from a distance perched upon a plastic ring, or lurching around the communities with my antalgic gait, like somebody from the ministry of silly walks.
So instead of going, I’m going to be amplifying all the amazing stuff that Virginia from www.challengeyoass.com writes (you should follow her blog as well – I was late to the party but fell in love by the end of the first post) and the musings from Carly who blogs at www.smaggle.com, who most people know already.
You see, we think we understand what organisations like World Vision do. We’ve seen the adverts. We’ve paid our $43 a month to make sure that Javier in Honduras* is doing okay. But the reason World Vision invests in sending bloggers to visit the projects isn’t to tell you what you think you know. They want you to understand, really understand, how your donations manifest in the real world. They want you to understand how the money doesn’t just send Javier to school. It empowers his mother, it gives his sister medical assistance, it provides his father with dignity, it puts toilets into villages, it gives a slum full of single mothers their financial independence, it provides education, clean drinking water. It provides access to people’s fundamental human rights.
Donating money for us is a no-brainer. But on the ground the impact of those dollars is breathtakingly visceral. It is physically disruptive. It is supportive. It is liberating. It is transforming. It is driven by the communities recognition of what they need and how they need it. It is delivered by some amazing people who are at heart, believe themselves to be staggeringly ordinary, who are actualising extraordinary change.
The work that World Vision does is life changing.
And while advertising gives you a glimpse of that, it is in the telling of the stories from a personal perspective that people come to understand the transformative reality of ‘donating a goat’ or ‘sponsoring Javier’.
So even though it won’t be my bum on the ground this time round, I’m proud to be a blogging ambassador for World Vision and looking forward to learning more about what they do in Indonesia, through the creative and talented word stylings of Virginia and Carly.
*Made this name and country combo up for the purposes of this post.